


More than meets the eye

by lloronadeazulceleste



Series: When You Were Young [3]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Modern Era, idiots slowly falling for each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-02-13 00:56:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21485701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lloronadeazulceleste/pseuds/lloronadeazulceleste
Summary: It happened without thinking, as those things usually did.Missing pieces from Let Go focusing on Azula and Sokka's falling in love.
Relationships: Azula/Sokka (Avatar)
Series: When You Were Young [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1540195
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

“Good morning!”

“Uhm… hello, Azula.”

“Isn’t this a lovely morning?”

It isn’t, really. “I’m freezing my balls off.”

“Well, you probably just need a thicker coat.” Playfully rolling her eyes, Azula even laughs at his words. _Is she high?_ “I’ll turn on the heater!” she happily stands from her newfound place at the desk table, and Sokka follows her with a strange look in his eyes.

“Better?”

“Yeah. Uhm… thanks.”

“Nonsense, it’s nothing,” she says, her hands a nonchalant show of delicacy. Her smile is too perfect for it to be real, and Sokka curses under his breath. What has gotten into her? but before he can ask, Azula crosses the room again, sits on top of the desk, and crosses her legs.

“I heard you’re looking for a new… Uh, _secretary_,” Azula says, and her nose wrinkles. It isn’t the job she’d have wanted, but it’s the most dignified she can think of in a tattoo shop.

Sokka scratches the back of his neck. "Yeah, we really aren’t.”

“But this place could use a little_… Help!_ I could, you know, help with the finances. I am sure that would ease the process, you know? Do the paperwork…” she smiles that perfect smile again, and Sokka can only raise an eyebrow.

“This is a tattoo shop, Azula.”

“_And?_ All and every… _enterprise,” _she struggles with the word, looking for the right one to say_. _ “—needs a lot of thought to be put into its management. Size doesn’t matter.”

He snorts at that, and when she only blinks expectantly at him, Sokka finally understands that she isn’t even aware of what she just said. That she was serious about it all. “_This is a tattoo shop, Azula_,” he says again.

“I can teach you French.”

“Why would I need French?”

“Oh, I don’t know, you could try your luck in the old continent,” she says, and there she is – the real Azula – barely hiding her exasperation, looking at him as if _he_ were the odd one! The audacity. “French is, after all, the language of diplomacy.”

“I’m not a diplomat.”

_“—And love_.”

He closes his eyes tight. Anything to erase from his mind the way her face blushes a lovely shade of pink, the way her voice carries an excitement that must be fake, because Azula isn’t like this unless she wants something. _And what does she want?_ She’s about to get it if she keeps batting her lashes like that.

“It’s the colonizer’s tongue,” he says, echoing his sister’s passionate opinions. He opens her eyes, seeing her putting her mask quickly back on. Azula straightens in her place, forcing another charming smile.

For once he’s happy to have paid attention to Katara’s rants, as he now can quote her without missing a beat. “I don’t condone colonialism.”

_ “Oh là là! _ _Mais qu’est-ce que tu vas faire quand tu –”_

“_Je_ don’t givé a _damné _about French_._”

She sighs, finally giving up on maintaining her show. Her legs uncross, and the smile disappears from her face.

“I need a job.”

“Weren’t you working at the campus’ library?” he asks.

Zuko had told them at dinner a few weeks ago. There was a bet going on about how long she would last there. Working with others didn’t really seem like her thing, that was one thing they all agreed on. _How long_ was where the bet really was at.

“They fired me,” she hisses, as she rolls her eyes. She has the talent of making her mistakes everyone’s fault but hers, a quality she shares with her brother, Sokka has discovered.

_"Why?”_

“Because I broke a jerk’s nose,” she says, eyeing her nails.

Sokka snorts. “Why?”

“Because he kept mixing the books from the Educational Psychology section with those from Pedagogy.”

It’s a lovely answer; one that she knows he’d like to hear. One that would make the conversation go another way, one where she feels safer, one where she can play safe.

He is not falling for it.

_“Azula…”_

He doesn’t know what it is, but something gives. Azula sighs –she studies him, as if deciding if he’s worth letting her walls down for, but he doesn’t back off. Stubborn to the bone.

“And he tried to punish me for what my father did,” she says, her voice sharp. Golden eyes are soft as they lock with his, and her whisper is a surprise. _“I will only answer for my actions.”_

“Fair enough,” he says, and his voice is gentle.

Something passes between them; he suspects it’s a weird sense of camaraderie. He wouldn’t dare call it friendship, but the past weeks she’s been everywhere, her perfume lingering even when she isn’t. Her eyes tormenting him even when he sleeps.

No, he wouldn’t call it friendship, but he wouldn’t mind if it came to that.

She’s the first to look away, crossing her arms under her chest.

“So, when can I start?” She stands up. “I can start today. The desk looks like it could use a little organization—”

“You can’t,” he says, looking her in the eyes. He doesn’t miss the small pout gracing her lips, and it draws a small apologetic smile on his. “Look, I really want to help you, but there’s already a secretary, and we don’t have a lot to do around here.”

“I can… clean,” she says, and even as she tries to mask her voice, Sokka knows how appalled she is to the idea.

“_I would pay to see that_. But, really, we don’t need new workers.”

“I really, really need the money.”

“You can work at your uncle’s shop.”

“I won’t be boiling and serving tea all day.”

“You could also boil and serve coffee,” he sing-songs the joke, but she doesn’t laugh.

“You’re not funny.”

“We all do things we don’t want to survive,” he says, and he rolls his eyes. “And you’ll be working with your family!”

Azula ponders the last one. Licking her lips, she shakes her head. “I don’t want to be a burden. I’m already living with him, I just can’t ask him to take me in his shop as well.”

“Azula, if you asked, he would never deny you.”

“You don’t know that.” She’s just as stubborn as he, and honestly, that’s really the problem, you see? They are more alike than they’d have wanted, and yet different enough for it to make things interesting.

“I do know that. He’s not a bad person.”

“Well, maybe he isn’t. _But I am_. And I was… particularly ugly towards him. I… _I can’t even believe he took me in_.”

“He’s your family, Azula. He must love you at least a little bit.”

“He probably just… _tolerates me_ for Zuko’s sake.”

“Ozai was his brother.”

“And I am Ozai’s daughter through and through,” Azula laughs, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She doesn’t look at him, eyes filled with shame.

“No, you’re not.” His voice is a whisper, and he studies her in silence. He doesn’t know what he is seeing but finds that he kind of likes it. More than he should. More than he ever thought.

She looks at him – at the way he is staring at her – and trembles.

“Listen. I’m sorry for coming here. I won’t be bothering you again,” her words are fast and practiced, diplomacy her greatest weapon. “Thank you very much… for listening.”

“Anytime,” he says, and he finds that he means it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And he must really need the coffee, because he is having weird thoughts (not for the first time) and it is just… unbearable. So Sokka lets go of her hand, and he wonders -briefly- if the faint tightening of her hand was just his imagination. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place a few weeks later.   
also some PINNING!!! AND YEARNING!!! AND CLEANING!!!

Sokka carefully writes the date in the right corner of his notebook. The rest may not be quite as legible, but he needs to be able to order his notes at least by date. June 21st is a simple summer day, too hot to be drinking his iced tea outside the coffee shop but not enough to remain home in his underwear. Book resting in front of him, he highlights an important concept before he forgets, going back to his notebook to write down what he needed to look up more in-depth. Bill Gunston’s work is proving to be particularly difficult that day, but he already skipped studying two days ago. Sighing, Sokka does his best to understand but he just can’t concentrate on the words that are present there on the page. He keeps feeling some funny sort of way every time he reads the letters “A” and “Z” together, only to feel like life has been sucked out of him when it turns out the word doesn’t end as he wants. 

And, honestly, just what is wrong with him? Sokka should have stayed home. At least he wouldn’t feel like a failure, just sipping on his beverage and making a fool of himself instead of actually making the best out of his free time. He sighs and passes his fingers through his long locks, but it does little to ease his ache. He’s not getting any studying done, that much he knows. Scribbling as fast as he can, he goes on with his to-do list. He has two more hours off work before he is called back in, having an appointment that will likely take all afternoon. His head is just starting to pound when he hears her voice. 

“Here,” Azula says, carrying a now empty tray. She places a cup of coffee in front of him, smoke rising until it seems to caress his nose. “It’s on the house,” she smiles, a curious gleam to her eyes that just feels like a punch in his gut. “Perhaps that’s what you need to get your ass to work.”

Sokka breathes deep, fascinated with the smell, and even hums in appreciation. It doesn’t last long, though, before he processes just what she said. Raising an eyebrow, he looks at her with intent. “On the house?”

Azula quickly nods, and for a moment her smile is open and she beams. “You were right. I only had to ask,” at this, she laughs, and he finds himself joining her, unable to stop smiling. “Look, I’m still not really good at this but Zuko’s helping me and it’s been nice and…”

“I think you’re doing great,” Sokka says, not skipping a beat. It is hard, sometimes, to see her putting her feet in her mouth, and he wonders, not for the first time, who was the bastard who made her so afraid of not being good enough. She is balancing her weight on her talons, and he feels the need to extend his hand and touch hers, and because he is clearly stupid and he never really learned to think his emotions, he does. 

It is soft - not as softer as the first time, probably hardened by the work she’s had to do, and a little dry (he blames the detergent she uses to wash the dishes) but it is warm, and it is hers, and that is more than enough. Anger quickly fades, because Azula is right there, and she just brought him coffee. And there she is, smiling at Sokka like that - just a hint of a blush on her cheekbones, and those plump lips barely stretching - just enough for him to know that she is touched, that she is pleased. And there is nothing he wouldn’t do for that smile to be always on her lips. 

And he must really need the coffee, because he is having weird thoughts (not for the first time) and it is just… unbearable. So Sokka lets go of her hand, and he wonders -briefly- if the faint tightening of her hand was just his imagination. 

Azula seems none the wiser, though. She curls the corners of her lips, “Thank you.”

He quickly takes a sip, humming. Golden eyes seem to wait eagerly for something, and he can’t read them as much as he’d like, so he settles for another sip, and another hum, and there is that soft smile again, the one that reaches her eyes and seems softer and more tamed. It’s not her usual smirk, it’s not the lovely smile she gets when… whatever this tension between them is called, but that smile that graces her lips when her guard is down, when she seems to know a secret and be completely content with it. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your coffee, though? Not that I am complaining.”

She doesn’t blush, she just cleans her hands on her apron, worrying her lower lip. “I… I seem to recall I ruined your morning coffee once.”

“You did?” Sokka asks, raising an eyebrow. 

She pales a little, like a deer caught in the headlights. Azula fidgets again, her hands grabbing hard at her tray. “It-it’s stupid. Of course, you don’t remember,” she says, rolling her eyes. A nonchalant movement of her hands does it best to lessen the importance of what she just said, but Sokka knows better. “Hey, just drink it, okay? I swear it’s not poisoned.”

“No, no,” he shakes his head, taking her hand into his. “I-I remember just now. I was totally kidding, you know? It was an accident.”

“I know. But I didn’t apologize.”

“It’s alright,” he smiles. 

“Just drink your damn coffee,” she says, pretending to be stern but it fails when he sees the smile she is trying to suppress gleaming bright in her eyes.

Still, he complies, taking a long sip of his coffee. 

“Umm, delicious!”

She laughs as she goes to a table that was recently occupied by a couple. Her smile is a little fake as she puts that sickly sweet voice and asks them what they want to order. Sokka watches with amusement, shaking his head to himself.

“Happy birthday, assface,” he says as he passes in front of the bar, a rag on his hands. Cleaning the counter is never his favorite chore, but he just spilled some ice. 

Her brother does not look at her, but Azula doesn’t miss the small smile adorning his lips, nor the fond tone he uses.

Still, the opportunity is too good to let it pass, so she says, “Talking to the mirror again, Zuko?” 

Before she can sass him again, Zuko has her in his arms, spinning her around, and she gasps, says “put me down right this second!”, frowning, but laughter bubbles from her in a way Sokka had never seen before. And there it is again. That burning feeling in his stomach. And it feels weird, for a little - to be seeing such a scene. Something that belongs to the two siblings, something he is no part of. But he wants to. He wants to. And he realizes it with a shiver running down his spine, with the feel of a bucket of ice falling on his head. He wants to see the two of them happy, wants to be part of that happiness, and there is no use in denying it. 

Zuko places her down on her feet, and ruffles her hair, strands disheveled now reaching her shoulders. She protests, but Zuko can tell that it is half-heartedly. Even if she is pouting and has murder on her eyes, there is the tiniest hint of a smile on her face, and he notices it in the way she lingers close to him. 

“Happy birthday, my niece.” Uncle says, bowing to her. Azula responds with a bow of her own, but it all seems to be of nothing, for Iroh soon has his arms wrapped around her. It is alien - seeing them like that, but Sokka can’t deny the utter look of happiness in both their faces. Can’t even try to look away. He doesn’t know it, but there is a smile on his lips as well.

“Young love,” the old lady at the next table whispers, and for once he doesn’t find it in himself to correct her.

Forgiveness has not been easy, but happiness is something they owe to themselves.

“You didn’t tell me it was your birthday,” he says to her as soon as she comes to clean the table after the old lady left. He studies her closely, noticing the way her back is a little bit stiff and he wonders briefly if there is something wrong.

She splashes disinfectant and wipes thoroughly with a rag. “Why does it matter? It’s just a birthday. It’s no big deal,” she rolls her eyes, but her tone is gentle.

“It is for me.”

“Please,” she scoffs, and he wants to argue, wants to tell her that he means it, but all words die on his throat. “I didn’t even remember, myself,” Azula says, and this time she laughs.

Deciding to ask later - for Azula won’t talk if she doesn’t want to- he tries a different approach. 

“What do you want to do?”

“I’m going to brunch with Ty Lee and Mai. And I have dinner with Zuko and Uncle.”

“Oh,” he kind of sounds disappointed. Even if he tries not to. Licking his lips, he goes on, forcing a small smile. “Look at you. All grown up, already going to stiff brunch parties like a trophy wife.”

That earns him a laugh. “I wish I had trophy wife money, though.”

“Don’t we all?” he raises an eyebrow, looking at her from head to toe. She crosses her arms under her breasts. He scratches his beard, as if deep in thought. “You’d make the worst trophy wife, though.”

“ _ Excuse you _ ? I’m gorgeous and I am very pleasing when I want to be.”

“I have no doubt of that,” he says, and he finds that he means it. “But you suck at staying still. It’ll be two days in and you’ll be already looking for something to do,” he points at her with his chopsticks, and she laughs that airy laugh of hers.

“ _ True _ . It’d drive me insane. Still, a girl can dream, can’t she?”

And before that smile has his knees weak again, he asks, “Are you free tomorrow night, though?”

Azula frowns, suspicion painted clearly on her face. _ “Why? _ Tomorrow’s movie night. Aren’t you gonna be there?” she eyes him, eyes scrutinizing. “It’s my turn to choose the movie and I am sorry but if I had to suffer through the entire Rocky saga you have to suffer through the silliest, most annoying rom-com I can think of.”

“Jokes on you, I actually like romcoms.

“Ugh, sometimes I forget you grow up quite close to your sister,” she rolls her eyes and turns to keep on cleaning the table.

“Didn’t peg you for the romantic type.”

“I’m full of secrets.”

“Aren’t you?” he says, a small smile on his lips. She misses a spot, but he can tell she is doing her best. “Thought you liked Creed.”

“I enjoyed Michael B. Jordan, I’m not gonna lie.” Sokka hears her smirk before he sees it, mischief clear on her golden eyes as she returns his look. 

“He’s quite the specimen, isn’t he?”

She laughs, the sound like bells, and he feels that he can listen to that sound forever and not mind it a bit. 

“Azula! Table number 3 is ready!”

“On my way!” she yells back. “I’m sorry.”

_ “Happy birthday, Azula.” _ Sokka whispers, and it feels like a caress that knocks the air out of her. She feels his eyes, soft and deep on her, and she swallows loudly, counting to ten.

_ “Ugh, don’t mention it.” _


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He hugs her, then. A strong grip on her waist, as if he wanted to anchor her there. As if afraid she would disappear if he didn’t touch her. This is too much, and yet it is not enough, and he needs to do something, so he settles for the only thing he knows. And that is talking. It seems that baring his soul is the only sensible action when it comes to her.

It is during the rainy months that Azula and Zuko leave for a three-week journey to the Valley of Whispers. There are still remains of Azula’s birthday cake in the fridge when they announce their parting, Iroh’s worried expression barely masked by his empathetic nods. 

“Take care, please,” he says, and he means it. In more ways than one.

The days are hard, there. They are following a shaky trace, trying to chase a ghost. The Valley of Whispers was the first place that Ursa was seen at just two days before she left Republic City, the Fire Manor, and her old life behind. The village can’t be considered anything out of the ordinary, just a simple town with nothing to do and nothing to see. Detective Lee swore that they could do better than him by letting others see him. Perhaps, he said, Ursa is right there in hiding. Zuko was ecstatic. 

When the two weeks pass and not a single hair of Ursa’s is seen, he finally allows himself to mourn. 

“What if she really is dead?”

“She can’t be dead, Zuko,” Azula rolls her eyes. “You heard Lee. She sent a letter two years ago from here. Perhaps she isn’t here anymore, but she was here.”

* * *

Iroh is not surprised when he sees the gloomy mood that sombers their faces as they come back. He is quick to offer tea and honey cakes. Even if they act as if no hope is lost, Iroh can see it written on their faces - they are thinking of giving up. It’s been too long. He can’t say much, not when Azula has such a bad cold she can’t stop shivering. He gives them the day off to rest and to mourn, and they thank him purposely in a way that makes Iroh’s heartache. No one should think of compassion as a luxury.

Some hours later, when Sokka comes to the shop hoping that the day has come. That the siblings are back. It is not without a small sight that he finds himself proved wrong. As much as he tries, he does not seem to find them anywhere. The coffee shop is almost empty, save for a few regulars. He tries to tell himself that the ache he feels has nothing to do with a certain brunette, but he has never been good at lying to himself.

“Sokka, hello!” Iroh greets him from the other side of the counter, coating some pastries with powdered sugar.

“Hello, Uncle! Is… Are they back?”

“Zuko and Azula arrived earlier today,” Iroh answers, mustache flinching in a small, knowing smile. 

“Great! Are they resting or…?”

“I believe Zuko was taking a shower.” You see, when you are of old age you need to make your own entertainment, and that is why Iroh refuses to indulge in what he knows Sokka is implicitly asking. If he wants to know, he’d have to ask, he thinks with a mischievous smile.

“Nice. I… I guess I’ll wait for them.”

“I’ll tell Zuko.”

“Is… Is  _ Azula  _ sleeping or something?”

“She is nursing a terrible cold, I’m afraid.”

“Is she… alright?” Sokka swallows tight. 

“She is recovering. And in a very bad mood.”

“I can imagine,” he laughs softly.

“You know, she was never an unhealthy child, nothing ever left her in bed,” he trails off, dusting the counter. 

“May I- can I see her?”

“Go at your own risk, son,” he says, and there is something burning in his eyes, like a secret the two are aware of, but Sokka is too embarrassed to think too much of it.

* * *

He climbs the stairs two steps at a time, and suddenly it all comes to him. The miserable longing he had felt - the yearning. And how he missed his terrible waitress! Two weeks shouldn’t have felt like an eternity, and yet they did, and Sokka is afraid - so afraid of reading too much into it, of putting a name to the feeling that tightens his heart, even if he already knows what it is.

“Knock, knock.”

“Umff,” answers a voice from inside, and Sokka feels his heart fluttering.

“I thought firebenders rose with the sun,” he says as he opens the door. The room is dimly lit, sober still. It seems as if she has yet to put a little bit of herself in those four words, and it aches - aches the idea that perhaps she hasn’t done so because she doesn’t want to stay. That, no matter how much she wants her to, she would never belong to a life like that. That her world is one that he cannot enter. 

Before he can dwell too much into it, though, Azula’s only answer was a groan, clenching her fists. 

“Good morning to you too,” he says, a small smile on his lips. And it is a whisper, like a secret shared between only the two of them. He swears he almost sees her smile.

She is laying in her bed, her growing locks sweaty against her forehead, a halo around her head. Eyes glassy and puffy, and cheeks a reddish shade, she is far from a beauty, and yet he can’t help but think she is adorable. His hands ache with the need to push her bangs aside, to caress her hair until she falls asleep on his chest. 

“Look at your nose,” he says instead, almost cooing, and laughter is present in his tone. 

“Shut up,” she coughs, clenching the sheets tighter. “My head is going to kill me.”

“Are you hot?”

“No, I feel like I’m freezing.”

“I thought you firebenders never…”

“I’m sick,” she says, and she is pouting, and there it is again. The feeling of his guts clenching, of his heart beating hard against his chest.

He fidgets on his place, wetting his lips. “Do you need something? Should I…?”

“No, no. It’s fine. I’m not hungry,” she shakes her head.

There is not much that he can do. And he is still standing there, awkwardly looking at her, and he does not know what to do, how to make himself useful, so he asks, “Do you… want me to leave?”

He is surprised to find golden eyes wide open, her head shaking. “Stay,” she says, and it is almost a plea, and it goes straight to his chest, “Please. It’s… it’s boring in here.”

“Move, then,” he says, making his way to the bed as he sees her shaking with another shiver.   


_ “What are you doing?” _

“I’m gonna warm you up, princess,” he answers her simply, taking off his boots.    


“Last time I checked you weren’t a firebender,” she says with a roll of her eyes, even as she parts the blankets to help him lay under them.

“You don’t need a firebender, though. I’m quite skilled, myself,” he smiles.

“That you are, boomerang boy.”

“Is this okay?” Sokka’s gentle tone is like a caress to her, and she closes her eyes, humming in approval. He lays in her bed, her scent a vice, and before he can think of it - can stop himself- he hugs her against him. This is more than okay, Azula thinks, venturing to blame her feverish head of the way she throws her leg over his. She feels cold against his skin, and she trembles like a broken leaf. She thinks he can’t possibly know the power he has over her, the way her body seems to mold into hers as if they were meant to fit like this. 

“Mhm.” Azula places her head on his chest, closing her eyes in content. And it shouldn’t make his knees weak -- seeing her like this. But it does, and he can no longer talk himself out of his feelings, can no longer tell himself that this is just friendship. 

He hugs her, then. A strong grip on her waist, as if he wanted to anchor her there. As if afraid she would disappear if he didn’t touch her. This is too much, and yet it is not enough, and he needs to do something, so he settles for the only thing he knows. And that is talking. It seems that baring his soul is the only sensible action when it comes to her.

“When we were kids, Katara would always take care of me when I was sick,” he says, and it is a whisper for they are too close. Azula can feel the vibration of his voice on his chest. “She used to make this chicken soup that worked like magic.  _ Perhaps…? _ ”

“I’m not really hungry,” she shakes her head, and the motion makes her hair move, the soft strands feeling like a caress against the exposed skin of his arms. It is as soft as silk, and he wants to playfully tug at it, to roll it against his fists, to caress it for the rest of his days. “I’d rather hear more about your sorry ass bothering Katara so much she had to cook for you,” she says but her tone was not biting. 

Sokka sees her fond smile, soft and open, as she looks right at him. He feels his chest tightening, and finds it in himself to caress her cheek softly. 

“You’re mean.”

“I hate staying in bed, wasting the day away.”

“You’re not wasting your day. You’re healing,” he says, as he finally gives in and gifts her hair a soft tug. “My mom used to say that in days like these, the best thing we can do is to just rest. That will give us the strength to go on.”

“Did she let you skip class?” she asks, and even if he can’t see from the angle they are in, he feels her smile against his chest, hears it in her soft voice.

“She encouraged us to remain in bed watching cartoons, yes.” Sokka smiled. “And she’d lay with us, making sure that we were alright.”

There is a fond silence, then. So comfortable neither feels the need to fill it. Azula’s cold hands trace small drawings on his chest, and he tries to find any meaning in them, in the shapes that she idly traces, leaving shudders behind. He finds that this must be what content is. That his eyes feel heavy and his heart full. That he could live like this and never find anything to complain about. It is only after a few minutes that Azula whispers, “You never told me what happened to your mom.” Sokka hummed. “Did she… did she  _ leave, _ like Ursa?”

“She died, actually. She was sick,” he says, and his voice is gentle. It is not without surprise that he finds it easy to talk about, the words flowing out of his mouth free as a bird. 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers against his chest, and it almost feels like a kiss -the way her lips move. And she is as honest as ever, her eyes looking for his, for a hint that he is sorry, for an out - for a way to hold him so tight all his pain leaves his body. It should be too much, it should be unbearable - yet it feels as natural as breathing.    


“Don’t be,” he says, and finds that he means it. Feeling bold, he holds her hands with his, caressing her knuckles. “She was in so much pain her last days, death was the kinder option.”

“I’m still sorry,” she whispers, looking at their entwined hands. “You must miss her a lot.”

“I do,” he nods with a sad look on his eyes, and Azula’s heart breaks.“Everyday. But can I confess something to you? I can barely remember what she looked like, anymore. Some days I can almost smell her perfume, but others, it doesn’t matter how hard I try, I just can’t seem to remember even the smallest of things. It feels like it has always been just my dad, Katara and me.”

How is it possible to feel Sokka’s pain as if it were her own? How is it possible to love someone that much? She finds herself unable to shut up, not when he is hurting. Not when he is right there beside her. “It’s okay. I am sure she knew you loved her, and that she loved you too.”

He smiles then, caresses her cheek. His eyes seem to be fixated on hers, and Azula doesn’t know what prompts her to go on, why she is suddenly incapable of shutting that damn mouth of hers. And she does go on, in a whisper.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“I can’t remember Ursa, either. I can’t remember a time where she was gentle. She must have, right? Mothers, they are... “ she gulps down, closing her eyes. “On times I remember, and I miss her so much I wish she were dead.”

_ “Azula…”  _ he whispers, and the tight knot on his throat feels like it may suffocate him. He searches for her eyes, and when he finds them - so full and so glassy - something breaks in him. Sokka hugs her tighter against him, so tight he feels her ribs against his, until he feels her heartbeat steady against his own.

“She must have loved me, right?” she asks, and she sounds desperate even for her own ears but can’t help it. “At least a tiny bit. At least when I was a baby.”

“I don’t believe anyone who has truly known you wouldn’t love you with their entire lives, Azula.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t say stuff you don’t mean just to make me feel better,” she huffs with a roll of her eyes. For good measure, she even smiles, but he knows it is something that keeps her up at night, that fills her with fear and pain, and he wishes he could hug her tighter, could make it all stop. “I don’t care. I am alright, with or without her.”

“Shhh,” he says, putting a finger over her lips. Sokka cups her jaw, looks right into her scared eyes. Long fingers caress her cheeks, soft like a butterfly’s touch. “I meant every word.”

“Sokka…” she whispers, and her lips tremble. Suddenly he can’t look anywhere but at them, rosy and parted. The air between them heavy, a spell surrounding them like a vice.

“Mhm?” he hums, and then she licks her lips, and he actually groans, all pretenses forgotten. 

“You-you’ll get sick too.”

“I don’t care,” he whispers.

She closes her eyes in anticipation, feeling her heart threatening to get out of her chest, and it feels like walking on clouds, but before his lips can touch hers, a stubborn knocking has them parting from the other.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath.

“Who is it?!” Azula’s annoyance is clear as water in her voice.

“Open up, Azula, lunch is ready!”

Azula has never wanted to kick her brother more than at that moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff to make up for the fact that it literally takes me ages to update


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